


Fly

by Helholden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, if you mean am I going to push you off my broom, the answer is no,” he said. If Hermione wasn’t mistaken, Malfoy was grinning. “Just <em>imagine</em> all the explaining I would have to do . . . ”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really old fic from the summer of 2004, but it's been edited, polished up, and posted here for archival reasons since I originally deleted it from all previous hosting sites. I plan on slowly going through the rest of my Harry Potter fics and polishing those up, too, so expect some more in the future. :)

_* * *_

 

It was nightfall near the very end of autumn, and the air was crisp as Hermione breathed it in deeply and released it with a sigh. There was a small smile on her face, to be out here alone without all of the hustle and bustle of the hallways and the general excitement for whenever Christmas would arrive. It would be here soon. Hermione was excited, too, but she was also in need of some much desired silence away from the crowds of students.

 

She stood near the edge of the parapet made of aged grey stones that were laced with chips and cracks from the elements and time. Her arms were folded, resting on the cold stone. Her head was tilted to the side as she gazed up at the sparkling stars in the pure blackness of the sky. They were sparkles of silver against a dark backdrop spotted with grey wisps of clouds beneath the moon. It was a beautiful sight and a beautiful night, and the corner of her mouth quirked upward to think that maybe she was the only one enjoying the scenery tonight.

 

Hermione rested her chin upon her upturned palm, her fingers drumming softly against her cheek. Her other hand pulled the cloak tighter around herself, trying desperately to shield her body from the cold tufts of wind that blew against her from the outside. The winds were picking up this time of year; they whipped her hair across her face, and Hermione gave up trying to secure her cloak around her frame for an opportunity to reach into her pocket and pull out a hair band.

 

Quickly, she gathered her hair together and tied it tightly at the base of her neck. The wind bit at her cheeks and neck even more with them bared, so she lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and returned her gaze beyond the parapet once more.

 

Something caught her gaze. Up ahead, there was a black figure flying around in the air. She squinted against the darkness, trying to get a better view. It whizzed through the sky like wingless bird, dipping down and whirling up. She furrowed her brows. It couldn’t have been a student. Students were supposed to be inside at this hour, so Hermione frowned because she knew despite the rules that there was always someone to break them.

 

 _Exactly how many students at this school pay attention to the rules, anyway?_ Hermione thought sarcastically, and then, guiltily, as she remembered all the rules that she, Harry, and Ron had broken over the years.

 

She sighed deeply. Hardly anyone followed rules anymore. Rules were a thing of the old days back when people were predictable and fearful of crossing the lines. Nowadays, it seemed as if everybody was bent on breaking them and reshaping them. Herself included, she had to admit.

 

Hermione could no longer see the flying silhouette, though. Her spirits dropped a little bit. Whoever it was, he or she was a very good flier. She would have liked to watch them carousel through the air gracefully for a little while longer, diving downward like a bird towards the surface of the lake to catch a fish before they whizzed upward again. Viktor had gotten her very interested in flying from afar, but she was still terrified of the idea of tackling it on herself. It was beautiful, but she was afraid of it.

 

In terms of learning, brooms were the one thing at Hogwarts that weren’t quite her friend. She exhaled a deep breath. It didn’t look like that was going to change any time soon either.

 

“I’d love so much to fly,” Hermione revealed to the darkness, talking to herself. “To be fearless in the air . . . ”

 

“Are you telling me a Gryffindor is _afraid_?” interrupted a familiar voice from nearby.

 

Hermione whirled around, whipping out her wand instinctively, ready to guard herself if need be or cast a hex—but he was not inside of the tower. Her mouth opened in surprise, and her brows creased together in confusion.

 

“And I thought Gryffindors were brave,” the voice sneered from right behind her.

 

Hermione gasped and stumbled forward to get away from the voice. She whirled back around to face the opposite direction, her wand pointed at a black-cloaked figure floating just beyond the parapet of the Astronomy Tower. One of the black clad arms lifted up and peeled back the hood on the person’s head, revealing the silver-blond hair of Draco Malfoy. He shook it off the rest of the way, causing pieces of his slicked back hair to come loose.

 

His grey eyes settled on her wand, narrowing at first. Malfoy’s pale eyebrows then shot up as he favored her with a flippant look.

 

“Really, Granger,” he drawled, “put that thing down. You wouldn’t want to accidentally hex me and cause me to fall to my untimely death below now, would you?” When Hermione didn’t answer him and set her jaw firmly in place, Malfoy added, “Just _imagine_ all the explaining you would have to do . . . ”

 

She took the joke as a sign of temporary cease-fire, and pocketed her wand.

 

“So,” Malfoy plowed on, “what’s all this I hear about being afraid to fly? And it coming from a Gryffindor, no less. I have to say I’m shocked, Granger.” He paused, giving her a disappointed look. “Terribly, terribly shocked,” he added with emphasis, unable to help himself from smirking at her.

 

Hermione glared at him, crossing her arms. “What’s it to you, Malfoy?”

 

“Are you really that interested in flying?” Malfoy then asked her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be asking her at that moment.

 

“No,” Hermione said quickly, and then, a little more unsurely, “I mean, yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe.”

 

She was, and she wasn’t. Her voice was not without attitude, though, especially at the last word. The expression on her face challenged him to say something—anything—about it. She was not pleased about his questions, insinuations, and childish taunts that interrupted her peaceful evening. It also unnerved her to no end when Malfoy smirked in response. His eyes were alight with something that could only be the beginnings of mischief.

 

He placed his foot on the windowsill, and to Hermione’s shock, extended his hand toward her. His ungloved hand. Hermione could not help her mouth from falling open in disbelief or her eyes from widening in surprise. Reflexively, she backed away from him.

 

“Do you want to fly . . . ” Malfoy drawled, “ . . . or not?”

 

“I have to say, Malfoy,” Hermione began carefully, her face twisting into a heavy scowl, “this is your dumbest trick yet.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes turned into slits. He removed his foot from the windowsill, kicking away forcefully. He sent her once last poisonous glare, and then sped away from the tower. Hermione ran up to the ledge, determined to give him a further piece of her mind since he was out of the castle at this hour and he shouldn’t have been.

 

“And you’re out of _bounds_!” she shouted into the darkness at him.

 

Feeling satisfied that she had gotten the last words, Hermione smiled to herself. He had insulted her intelligence, thinking her air-headed enough to believe that he was actually going to take her for a ride on his broom. There was no reason to trust him in the slightest in the past, and she wasn’t about to start now.

 

Hermione sighed, glad for that to be over with, and cast one last glance at the sky above. When she lowered her eyes to the level of the parapet, she saw Malfoy’s black figure flying quickly towards the tower again. Hermione crossed her arms angrily, huffing like a child. He was coming back for the last word. She just knew it.

 

Malfoy skidded to a halt on his broom before the parapet, breathing heavily and glaring at her. His hair was an unbelievable mess from flying away so hastily without his hood on, and it took all of Hermione’s willpower not to laugh at him. Instead, she tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows as if daring him to say something. Malfoy visibly clenched his teeth, and then he almost pointed at her, but he ended up balling his fingers into a fist instead. She could tell he was frazzled. Hermione was rather pleased with herself. She didn’t think her words would have that kind of effect on him.

 

Without warning, Malfoy reached out to snatch her collar. Her eyes widened as she saw his face rush toward hers, and the next thing she knew Malfoy’s mouth was pressed firmly against her tightly closed lips. Immediately, her arms reacted, repeatedly pummeling his lean frame. Malfoy pulled away, and Hermione reeled back, slapping him as hard as she could.

 

The sudden clarity of what just happened settled into Hermione’s head with a heavy weight as she stared at the reddening mark on Malfoy’s cheek. His face was turned away from her because of the impact her slap, and until she looked down just then, she didn’t even realize his fingers still clasped the collar of her cloak. Hermione stood there, mortified in her place, as Malfoy turned to look at her.

 

It seemed all his rage had left him, though.

 

Before she could make a move to pull away from him again, Malfoy tugged her forward. He closed what little open space there was between them, pressing his lips to hers with a softness that wasn’t there before. She might’ve panicked again, had she not stilled completely at the touch. Malfoy’s hand left her robes, finding a satisfying enough place behind her neck just beneath her hair, and Hermione relaxed further and found herself, just for a fraction of a second, kissing him back despite all sound reasoning in her head.

 

Malfoy stopped, pulling away just a fraction of an inch, but he left his lips still touching hers by a mere lingering brush. His lips were slightly parted, and his hot breath washed over her skin, into her own open mouth, and Hermione felt herself trembling.

 

She did not know what to do, so she did nothing, allowing herself to not think for once. Logic wouldn’t help her here, anyway.

 

This was against all logic.

 

“C’mon, Granger,” Malfoy breathed against her, causing her to shiver, “fly away from this dusty old tower with me.”

 

His use of her last name instead of her first name ought to have further upset her, but it didn’t. Somehow it felt more genuine that way. He was still Draco Malfoy, after all, and Hermione wasn’t so sure how she would feel about him suddenly calling her by her given name.

 

More distrust, probably.

 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Hermione managed to ask through the unsure haze that had built up in her mind. She hadn’t realized her hands were clutching the ledge so tightly, but the stone was rough beneath her palms and fingertips. If she was honest with herself, she still didn’t fully trust Malfoy, but he had kissed _her_ —not the other way around.

 

If anything, she could always use that against him if he decided to be dishonest with her. Hermione made a mental note of it, and filed it away for later.

 

“Well, if you mean am I going to push you off my broom, the answer is no,” he spoke against her lips, and, if Hermione wasn’t mistaken, Malfoy grinned. “Just _imagine_ all the explaining I would have to do . . . ”

 

She actually felt herself smiling as well, and then a soft laugh escaped her lips at his joke instead of a scowl forming on her face, and before there was time for her mind to talk her out of it, she found herself nestled safely behind Draco Malfoy on the broom with the cold air whipping around them high above the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

From his window far below, Albus Dumbledore gazed upwards at the glittering night sky and spotted two of the unlikeliest people on a broom together. Though it was past curfew, Dumbledore did not alert any of the other teachers to retrieve the students from outside.

 

Instead, he simply smiled.

 

It seemed, after all, that at least inter-house relationships were slowly beginning to improve.

 

 


End file.
